Invoking My Pledge
by Lemon Flavored Kleenex
Summary: LONG. The alien species rebuild their culture after returning with Mew Aqua. When a new threat to Earth arises from their people, the new leaders decide to send assistance to Earth's protectors, but the Mews have been disbanded for years. Facing this new threat alongside the aliens, will the fight be the same or will new complications arise? FOCUS ON ALL CHARACTERS.
1. Introduction: part one

…金狨精修学校…

Her shoulder stung, but she could hardly feel it. She would doubtlessly sport a bruise tomorrow morning, but there was no way in Hell she would let them know that it bothered her. Mother-Sensei was a harsh woman whose job was to break even the strongest willed charge into submission. However, Pudding Fong was no ordinary strong willed girl, and she would not allow the woman to win.

Pudding had suffered long enough under this woman's care that any urge to give in and submit herself to the whipping stick was smothered before it truly surfaced in her mind. She spent too many years resilient to the training the woman and her colleagues enforced at the school. The other girls were enrolled and were broken swiftly, but Pudding was different. She was unique; she was powerful; she was loyal; she would not be tamed by the likes of them.

"Appropriate young woman know the right time enjoy herself and the right time obediently obey…" Mother-Sensei droned on for the thousandth time.

It was nothing the blond teenager hadn't heard before, and to be quite honest, she was getting pretty sick of it. Years of their efforts to tame her and yet she prevailed, unbroken. By now, she had expected the women of the finishing school to give up, but they persisted with resilience that could only be respected. It was no wonder that her father appraised the woman so much; she had a patience that could only be achieved through years of martial arts training. Of course, that did not mean she was any less deserving of Pudding's distain.

Pudding's energy was the distasteful subject that offended Mother-Sensei. For upwards of four years the middle-aged Chinese woman made it her personal project to train the pep out of Pudding's personality. She viewed it as a responsibility to Huang Fong, the girl's father, as a friend, to successfully present him with a perfected product, not a failed half-attempt of reconditioning. Having lost her mother at a young age, Pudding only acted as she was naturally impelled to do, lacking the nurturing discipline of a mother's example in her most influential years of development. That lack, of course, was not Pudding's fault and she could not truly be blamed for behaving as recklessly as she did. Regardless, the impulsive, crass activities in which the girl engaged prevented her from undergoing metamorphosis from girl to woman.

Huang informed Mother-Sensei over the phone that his eldest daughter was to be married to Ron Yuebin, one of his young trainees when traveling through China. The young lady had a long way to go before she was ready to become anyone's young bride. She was pretty enough now that they trained her out of those boyish pants she wore when she arrived. Pants, Mother-Sensei often explained with the patience of a thousand willow trees, were to be worn by men and small children. No woman of any proper rearing would be caught in the restricting design. Fitted dresses made of fine, delicate silk with intricate, thin design on the trim were the appropriate attire of a young lady of Pudding's standing. Anything less was an insult to her father, to her future husband, and to herself.

"I am glad you do not wear child's clothing or bad cut hair, but you must take action and pride in the heart of a woman, not a child," Mother-Sensei continued.

Pudding rolled her eyes discretely. She wasn't quite dumb enough to openly disrespect the middle-aged woman, though the blond teen would love nothing more than to tell the woman what she thought of all her lessons and sermons on propriety. She had been doing perfectly fine with a playful personality before she arrived at the finishing school, and she maintained that she would likely do well to remain that way despite what Mother-Sensei believed.

Even though she was unhappy here, Pudding couldn't bring herself to blame her father for her predicament. When he returned from his training, he was as enthusiastic about her acrobatics and carefree attitude as he had ever been. He brought back many new techniques to share with his children to learn. He taught each technique to his children as vigorously as he would any pupil. He would laugh and joyfully insist that she demonstrate her acrobatics for him as a means of training her own fighting skills which required many of the same skills as her act. Pudding would happily comply, eager to show him how she had grown in his absence. She hadn't simply directed and cared for her brothers and sister, but had guided herself.

All continued happily in such a state for many months. Her father reopened his dojo and accepted new students and challengers. He always proudly came to her performances in the park once every day, watching on proudly. He disregarded the arranged marriage to Ron Yuebin that had been established on a promise he had made his students during training. The agreement was that the one to beat Pudding in combat would win her hand in marriage, but he was never serious about it, as if he would ever give away his prized daughter so whimsically, and cleared up the matter when Yuebin had returned to continue his training.

Then, one day, her father became troubled. He treated her siblings with the same love and playfulness as always, but he had begun to harden in his interactions with her. He informed her that she needed to behave with more prideful reserve now that she was becoming a woman, she couldn't act like a child forever, she would have to get married someday and she'd be expected to behave as a woman, not a girl. Next thing Pudding knew, her engagement to Yuebin was reestablished; her father stopped watching her performances; he encouraged her to sit by politely rather than take part in the training sessions he gave to her siblings; she was enrolled at the Golden Marmoset Finishing School in China under the watchful eye of Mother-Sensei; her life was over.

Pudding never did well with the rules of the finishing school. Her well-made Chinese-style martial arts suit was taken from her and replaced by _acceptably _female attire. Her short braids were pulled out and left hang in blond curls she was expected to take care of and upkeep. Rather than run about, she was expected to sit perfectly still through days of passive housekeeping lessons—cooking, cleaning, Chinese tea ceremony, embroidery. Rather than speak her mind, she was expected to remain silent and keep her opinions to herself even when her way was better than the alternative. She was to hide any sign of discomfort as the best hostess did not concern her guests with trivial pains. All the rules constricted the behaviors and attitudes of the girls trapped within the school's walls. They became a challenge to which Pudding rose.

And so, time after time, the energetic girl was berated and beaten for disobeying instruction. She attempted to cause disorder by performing in the courtyards; teaching other girls acrobatics; suggesting to the other girls that they speak their minds and reject the lessons being taught to them; and worst of all, Pudding wore her hair in her initial braided atrocity of a hair style and she hid pants and shorts which she wore sporadically despite warnings to dress in accordance with the school's dress code. The teachers sought to work out the undesirable aspects of her personality. They lectured, assigned extra chores, confined her to her room for days at a time, and lashed her repeatedly in the off chance that the lessons would permeate her decisive stubbornness. Yet, Pudding remained unbroken, the one girl under their care who proved impossible to train. She could not be refined.

Her shoulder stung sharply before the stick came down again. It was a conditioned feeling. She could take it. She had hurt more than that. It was just a twinge of nerves telling her mind that her body was in danger. But her body wasn't in danger. The smile on the other girls' faces ensured that she would endure a beating like this again as many times a possible. It brought her joy to make other people smile and she wouldn't give up her act until the day it failed to bring anyone cheer. She had withstood more severe things than this beating. It had no effect on her, she told herself. She was strong. They wouldn't break her. It became her mantra, a promise throughout her time at the school. She, Pudding Fong, would not be trained like a dog.

Pudding missed her home in Tokyo. She often found herself wondering how her siblings were getting along without her to watch over them. Maybe they would have finally learned to do their own laundry, to cook their own meals. In all likelihood, they wore dirty clothes more than not and ordered take out. That crap was so unhealthy.

Along with her siblings, Pudding missed her friends. She didn't have many friends from school; after all, she never spent enough time there to really devote enough time to relationship building. However, she had many friends from her job as a waitress at a frilly, maid-style café. Despite her young age, she was hired and balanced the demands of her job with her responsibilities at home and her routine in the park to make spare change.

At her job, Pudding did more than bus tables; she protected the world. The café was the perfect cover for the Mew Mew Project, a scientific experiment that created a team of fighters to fight the alien forces set to take the planet for their own. The girls were each infused with the DNA of endangered species the instincts of which would help them to survive the attacks of the Chimeras and the aliens behind their attacks. There were five of them whose genetic makeup predisposed them as the perfect match for the project's objectives.

The two scientists, Keiichiro Akasaka and Ryo Shirogane, were their guides, planning and monitoring their movements and the development of their DNA mutations. The young teens possessed the traits of endangered animals and since the onset of the project, each learned to cope with their new mutations. Ichigo Momomiya, the leader of the team, was combined with the DNA of the Iriomote Cat; Mint Aizawa was combined with the Blue Lorikeet; Lettuce Midorikawa was combined with the Finless Porpoise; Zakuro Fujiwara was combined with the Gray Wolf; and Pudding herself was combined the Golden Tamarin Monkey.

The team became like a second family to her, reliably by her side when she needed them. Since the final battle with the aliens, however, Pudding had lost contact with them each slowly and then all of a sudden. Even so, as Mother-Sensei sharply brought down the punishment stick, Pudding found herself thinking of the girls she used to know and the adventures they had together.

If only she could break out from this place and find her way back to Tokyo…

(WC:1,894)


	2. Introduction: part two

…京都大学…

If only she could break out of this place and find her way back to Tokyo… that was her wish as she crouched down behind the loose wall of black coats. Stuffed into the back of the entrance hall closet, praying she wouldn't be found, she could hear the stomping feet and malicious giggles of the other women who shared her dormitory house. Her hope that they would give up the search for her had been destroyed half an hour ago. Exam week was up coming and what better method of stress relief was there than beating on the dorm's Freak? She never talked back or stood up for herself anyway. It was like she enjoyed their punishments. How disgusting.

"Let~tuce!"

The hidden woman flinched. The voice was quite close to her hiding place. They were getting closer and closer as they searched through all the other available rooms upstairs. Soon they would come down the stairs to search the lower level. When they reached the entrance, they would spot her feet below the coats. They would find her. The game would be finished. Hiding was hardly a means of escape. They always found her eventually. It was merely a means of prolonging the inevitable.

Lettuce Midorikawa peeked through the coats hesitantly, careful not to dislodge them in any notable manner in case someone was in the area. To her temporary relief, no one had reached the landing just yet. She stuck her head out farther, cautiously glancing to either side. No one. She turned her sights on the main entrance. If she ran now, she might be able to make it out into the dark of the night before they thought to look here. She'd be caught anyway if they chose to come down the stairs. The woman gulped silently, dislodging the lump of fear that had formed in her throat. It would not help her to run swiftly if she needed to concentrate on breathing past that block.

Slowly, the woman tugged her shoes on and checked that her bag was securely on her shoulder. She slipped deafly between the coats, ensuring they made as little sound as possible when falling back into place. An unnecessary precaution. The women were making too much noise in their hunt to notice a rustle of coats. But Lettuce was paranoid and any preventative action she could take would help ease her nerves if nothing else.

It was a ten foot dash from the closet to the door, ten feet where she would be exposed to the hall and the second floor landing. She had maybe five seconds maximum to dart across that space. If the other women spotted her, she would have to make her escape in half that time. The key was staying quiet, drawing as little attention to herself as possible.

She put forward one foot, stepping silently. Nine feet.

As experience instructed, slow and steady nearly insured a safe route to the pitch black, noiseless night that awaited her just the other side of that door. Unlike the other girls, she wasn't afraid of the dark. The night was her only savior from their relentless taunting and tricks and ridicule.

A second step. Eight feet.

Lettuce had friends in and outside of school before university, but those days had passed. Within her first few months at university, she made the mistake of working hard for the grades she received, which won her the approval of the professors, but the other students hated her almost instinctively. The naturally smart and hardworking student was naturally hated by all those who neglected their study responsibilities. It was a stereotypical situation that she never would have guessed would be true in any school in reality. Yet, it quickly became her daily truth.

Another step. Seven feet.

As she grew older, she had relinquished the twin braids she used to tame her hair, instead allowing it to flow loosely around her shoulders. It was a much more flattering look, she knew, but it only served to infuriate her dorm-mates more than her grades. Even at a young age, Lettuce had problems because of her hair color. She could never find any explanation, but she had simply been born with hair the color of green sea foam. It had caused her many problems as people throughout her life assumed it to be dyed, and that pissed them off. Her dorm-mates were no exception. It did not help that she did not try to hide it in her braids as she did years prior, back in middle school. The women perceived her fashion as a cocky desire to rile their frustrations with her appearance.

Lettuce wasn't an unattractive woman if you looked past her odd coloring, bad fashion sense, and her old-lady style wire glasses. She hid generous curves under the shapeless, pale skirts and dresses she wore which drew attention away from her silhouette. She was attractive, but unlike the other women, she did not see the need to flaunt it, especially given that they would like her even less if she did.

She took another shaky but soundless step towards the door. Six feet.

Her heart stopped as one of the women upstairs slammed a door after searching it. Lettuce was sure she could fight them off if she truly wanted to do so, but all she ever wanted was to get along with everyone, not fight. However, she knew Emily Honda, the short haired woman from the room at the end of the hall, carried a pair of scissors, having promised the others that she would cut off Lettuce's hair when they found her. And although hair grew back, the lone woman did not appreciate the notion of Emily wielding scissors anywhere near her face. It was in that woman's nature to "accidentally" allow her hands to slip.

"God! This building is only, like, four hundred square feet, how can she hide in that?"

Lettuce froze, her foot in the air. The voice was directly overhead. If they chose to look down, she was caught. She looked to the door. Five feet. If she ran before they came down…

"Well, Misaki, she probably jumped out a window or something."

Why hadn't she thought of that? Then she would have been outside safe in the night from the very start. She let her foot drop to the floor with a quiet pap. Her predators were too busy complaining to notice such a small sound, but Lettuce still flinched, awaiting the cry that she had been spotted.

"I hope she broke her goddamn neck. She'll be the reason we do not get a curve on the biology exam."

It wasn't the first time Lettuce had heard such sentiments. She often had death wished upon her because of the grades she received. It was sort of silly. At first, the quips had bothered her and she tried to help the others study more efficiently, but she soon gave up that pitiful attempt. Anything short of her dropping out of school would fail to suffice for them. Oh, how she missed high school where her skills were encouraged and drawn on by her classmates. Yes, many of them used her and simply copied her work, but it was better than the harassment she got for her intelligence here.

"Well, why do not we look downstairs? We've just searched the top floor."

They were coming. Lettuce stood frozen. Five feet to freedom and she couldn't make her body respond. Foolishly, she had hoped they would give up their chase. Of course, she should have known better. She was never so lucky, or maybe she just did not understand human psychology. The shoeless feet treading lightly on the creaky wood overhead signaled her doomed fate. The lone woman stopped breathing. Everything about her was still, but she knew that wouldn't keep them from seeing her instantly. All they needed to do was glance down and she'd be found.

She hadn't truly thought she could escape them.

Two choices were open to her: make a run for it, or surrender. The outcome of both would probably be the same. Nonetheless, she chose the first option.

Silence abandoned, Lettuce bolted. The women yelled when she moved. They'd finally seen her, but she was the one who chose to give away her location, not wait for them to come down to her.

A small victory, no doubt.

She thundered across the short expanse of the entrance hall between the night and her, desperately reaching out for the door, willing it to run to her at equal speed. The women ran down the stairs, attempting to head her off. The math did not add up. They wouldn't make it at the angle they approached. She did not let her confidence slow her legs.

She heard one of the women jump from the second story landing, alighting on the tile just behind Lettuce, closer than the other women. A hand snatched at her hair. She threw her head forward, yanking the captured strands from her scalp. The woman behind her had only succeeded in pulling out ten or fifteen hairs. It wouldn't cause too much damage.

The hunted woman slammed through the door and ran down the dorm's path at a breakneck speed. The women in pursuit followed her so far as the top of the outside stairs where they stopped and simply watched her slip away down the avenue to safety. Still, Lettuce needed to get away. If she did not run far from the dorm, they would decide it was worthwhile to come get her. So she kept running, past the streetlamp that marked the dorm driveway, past the large tree that marked the path to the male dorms. She just ran for the sake of running. The night was her mistress and her pursuers were unwelcome to tread here.

She slowed as she approached the edge of campus, panting heavily. Lettuce touched her bag, clumsily checking nothing had fallen out. It was her survival bag for just such the occasion as this. She slumped down onto a decorative rock that had painted on its side the university's name. The bag's guts spilled onto the ground under the yellow-light street lamp over her head—a bottle of water, a notebook, the textbook she had been reading before the start of the chase, a couple pens, a folder with papers to go over for a final edit, and a thin, mobile phone that connected to the internet. It was the mobile that she picked up.

The screen was open to a forum site page that she sometimes used when she felt bad about herself. Opening yourself to random strangers on the internet was a bad idea, she was sure, but with no friends on campus and having lost contact with her friends from before, hollow internet conversations with strangers was just what she needed. A few who were logged on currently she recognized. It wasn't as if she had exactly failed to make a few friends online, but the numbers were still only a few. Lettuce let her lips curl into a small smile despite her situation. Her favorite user to talk with was online.

[MarineSalad opened a chat window]

[ClairvoyantData accepted the invitation]

CD: Hello, Ms Salad. Finished studying for your exam tomorrow already?

MS: Hi! Haha, no, but I figured I could take a break and talk to my favorite user!

CD: I am flattered, but you really should focus on your studies.

MS: Well, I've got all night for that…

CD: Ah, I see. Did they chase you out again?

MS: How did you guess? No matter though because it wasn't too bad this time around.

CD: You will forgive me I hope if I doubt your sincerity.

MS: Haha, yeah, well, I did not let them catch me this time, though Mari almost clipped my hair.

CD: It would indeed be a shame for something to happen to you or your magnificent hair.

MS: Emily had a pair of scissors this time, so I think I got away none too soon.

CD: I still do not understand the appeal in terrorizing you, to be fully honest.

MS: Does there _HAVE_ to be an appeal? I'm an easy target.

CD: It sounds as if a few self-defense classes wouldn't be wasted on you.

MS: Haha, I know how to fight, I just do not want to hurt people, you know?

CD: Ah, yes, Ms Salad, forever the pacifist.

MS: Hey, you, I just experienced a traumatic hunt were I was the prey! You cannot just start hitting on me.

CD: I will attempt to contain myself.

MS: Hey, if you're on now, does that mean we're in the same time zone?

[ClairvoyantData disconnected]

Lettuce sighed. He always did that when she tried to figure out where he was writing from. Paranoid about being stalked, she was sure. Regardless, he did not need to log out without a goodbye.

She wondered where his home was.

* * *

(WC:2,216)


	3. Introduction: part three

…Académie de l'écoulement …

Sometimes, she wondered where her home was. Some days, she was certain it was the theater with all of its glamour and glitz. Other days, she felt that she had lost it when she moved away from Tokyo to study ballet in France. Perhaps if she had remained in Japan she would feel more confident. Something about the painted face that watched her from the other side of the mirror was not right.

Mint Aizawa had to admit that her career as a ballerina in France did wash over her heritage fairly quickly. Already, she gave in to the pressures from her fellow dancers and from the directors to conform to the demands of the stage regardless of injury or mental state. The competition was high to score significant roles in the troupe's productions, but even as a background dancer, the pressure was elevated to maintain the balance, perfection, and body image that the troupe leaders desired. Generally, the dancers were encouraged to skip solid food, even when not preforming. They were provided liquid protein shakes to keep them going. The consensus between dancers was that you would not be chosen for a show should you weigh too much, and the troupe's top selected leading roles only reinforced the speculation. Mint was naturally thin and had never previously needed concern herself with her weight. Yet, two months into her time with the troupe, the trainer suggested she lose some weight if she wanted to have a role in a show.

"Le corps parfait vous permet de gagner succès," he promised her with a smile.

She took his advice, cut down her meals, watched her intake, and sure enough, she was cast for the troupe's le Casse-Noisette. She had never realized the power that weight held in the theater, even after so many years of dancing.

Her realization of its power was the first step in a downward spiral.

Quicker than she would have imagined, Mint found that it was an unstoppable force. Now that she had discovered the power of weight, she entered the culture that had previously been a secret from her. Her fellow ballerinas gave her tips and critiques that helped guide her to further gain control over her intake. Some people may have called it an obsession as she counted her calories, skipped meals, weighed herself daily, purged of unwanted missteps. It was all in her control. She criticized new additions to the troupe for their disregard of weight; gossiped about which dancer let her control slip; theorized new ways to maintain control over her body. She needed to be thinner, better controlled than the other dancers. It was intoxicating.

She knew just as well as the rest of them, control was how you got ahead in this business.

"Êtes-vous prêt à accomplir, ma chérie? Nous partons dans quelques minutes."

Mint turned away from the foreign reflection in the mirror. It did not matter that the reflection was not right. It was what she needed it to be, what she had created. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find the director. This was Mint's first time cast as the leading role. It was normal for the director to come and check in on the leads. However, the figure in the doorframe was not the director.

The woman who leaned against the doorframe was tall like a man and built with the muscle of a dancer and a fighter all in one. She looked more like a martial artist than a ballerina, but her skill on the stage was enough to explain her success. She was a genius, but Mint knew that even the genius partook in the obsessions of perfections the other dancers cultivated, but she ate much more than the others. The woman practiced control just as much as she practiced her routines, but in different ways than Mint and the others did.

Her naturally bleached hair was mercilessly pulled into a braided bun; her spine was held delicately upright and straight; her weight rested, perfectly balanced upon her pointed toes; her leotard had no wrinkles; her tutu had no crushed spots; her hands rested passively against her abdomen. All in all, she was a flawless representation of the troupe's perfection.

"Tu es magnifique. Je me sens mal pour avoir volé le plomb de vous."

Mint couldn't stop the bitterness from seeping into her voice. With anyone else, the tone would have set off a huge fight, but this woman simply laughed. Music. Mint could have punched her in the gut.

"Je n'ai aucun scrupule. Vous méritez vraiment le rôle, Mint."

"Merci bien, Tiffany."

The blond woman winked, crushing together her long, makeup soaked eyelashes. Her dignified and cherry-colored lips broke to reveal a full set of off-white teeth that shone like gems in Mint's eyes. It was music in physical form as her laugh was so in sound. The cheeky smile matched her personality perfectly. It was a candid expression. Not even the other ladies on the troupe had seen Tiffany wearing that expression. Mint knew it was one that the woman allowed only her to see.

Mint blushed. She had to be careful around Tiffany. The blond was a little too attractive for the Japanese woman to handle. It was a shock that the woman did not yet have a boyfriend. She spent all her time devoted to the stage and had no time for romances, or at least, that was what Tiffany joked. Mint knew her better than that. Men simply did not approach her. The woman was powerful and magnificent and she announced it while remaining silent. She was a warrior, an Amazon.

It was the warrior in Tiffany that fueled Mint's jealousy. As much as she attempted to reject it, the animal instinct within Mint warned her away from Tiffany as if the woman was more than just a threat to her career. The only physical similarity between Tiffany and the alien species was the electricity-fueled folds of her baby-blue irises.

The electric-powered blue was too similar to the deranged leader the aliens brought to Earth. Although she hadn't seen one of the alien species for about five years, Mint doubted she would forget the face of their insane god-leader Deep Blue anytime soon. The ballerina often found herself sleeping fitfully, awakening suddenly in a sweat, Deep Blue's cold, merciless eyes imprinted in her mind. It frightened her, like a warning that she would soon face him a second time—a notion of which she was not very keen.

The petite girl brushed invisible dust from her leotard front as she stood. Unlike the other woman, Mint did not enjoy walking on her tiptoes when she did not have to. _C'est__pour la formation_, Tiffany always joked if Mint pointed out her odd habit. It was not like the woman needed training to excel on the stage. It was almost as if she flew across the stage in a flurry of emotion as if her will the dance motivated her body to yield to the performance.

Mint had once before fallen in love with a performer—the majesty with which her limbs moved, the path her long, silky hair fanned out around her, the fluidity of the movements as they coordinated with an internal music no one else could hear. They parted ways so as to pursue their individual careers. The feelings had never fully left Mint, but if there was one person who could replace her first love, it would definitely be Tiffany.

The Japanese woman turned to face the French Amazon with a perfectly pleasant expression on her too-made-up face. Delicately she walked to the door. She could hear the other performers in the hall running around making last minute costume touch ups, getting into position, irritating the stage hands. If this show was like any of the others there would be at least nine necessary components to mess up, fall through, or break. This show was not like any of the others, Mint reminded herself. This show was _her_ show. It was time for her to show her true natural talent. This show would make or break her career as a dancer. This show was special.

"Êtes-vous prêt à voler, mon petit chou?" Tiffany asked quietly, a little excitement faintly hidden beneath her tone.

Mint paused before entering the hallway behind the stage. She fixed Tiffany with a confident expression. The other women wanted to see her fail, Mint knew it. She was the competition and nothing could help their odds more than to have one naturally talented ballerina knocked out of the lineup. Tiffany was different though. Tiffany was not against her. Tiffany would continue to thrive in the lights of the theater whether Mint performed perfectly or completely blew it. Her career was not affected. Perhaps that was why Mint liked Tiffany so much—in an environment where competition and rivalry reigned supreme, Tiffany persisted indifferently.

"Vous venez de prendre du recul et regardez-moi voler," Mint replied with a cheeky smile of her own. She walked into the hall, responding to the director's call for everyone to take their positions.

This show was all hers, and her entrance would be brilliant.

* * *

(WC:1,568)


	4. Introduction: part four

…地球外の…

It was show time. Pai grit his teeth tightly. Probability of success: 87.2%

It had been a long time since the fate of the blue planet had come up in conversation. Once the mission was completed and they returned home, they faced the questions of details regarding the death of their leader and the integrity of their personal loyalty. The investigation was driven by another agent sent by the destroyed Deep Blue to a different location on Earth than their specific mission. This agent's name was Éclair.

Unlike the majority of those at home, Éclair did not rejoice at the restoration of their planet. She did not approve of the abandonment of Deep Blue's plan on the accounts of only three young agents. Her objections were discredited with footage and records of the overall mission as well as the final fight with the Earth's forces. The information, Éclair claimed, could not be taken as the truth because it was all supplied by Pai who was one of the three young agents sent to the Mother Planet. She did not buy the story they reported.

How were the People to know for certain that Deep Blue had been destroyed by Earth's forces? The three agents returned without a scratch on them from the supposed battle. They claimed Mew Aqua had healed them all of the injuries they had sustained. The Mew Aqua they brought home with them, the footage of the battle, and the recordings of activity prior to the battle—all which Pai supplied upon the agents' return—backed their story, but Éclair was not so willing to accept the proof. She had been an agent sent to Earth on the same mission as the first agent sent to Tokyo, and she had interacted with the human population. She thought them much too weak to ever pose such a threat to a god like Deep Blue.

She raised questions as to why multiple agents had been deployed in the first place. Kish, the primary agent, an adolescent at the time of Deep Blue's downfall, had been removed from the mission by Deep Blue after the first handful of trips. The mission was designated to the two agents Pai and Tart who would not have been involved without Kish's shortcoming. Kish was soon reinstated to the mission, but it was clear that he was one to act on his own motivations.

The more Éclair examined the data that supported the three agents' story, the more evidence she found that suggested betrayal. Kish returned with wounds that matched Deep Blue's weapon on numerous occasions. How could anyone be certain that the agents themselves had not simply turned on their leader and faked the evidence they provided? How could anyone be certain that the agents had not returned corrupted by their time on Earth and thereby set to changing their people's focus? The defense: they brought back Mew Aqua; however, there was no reason to believe that it wasn't a product of the solution they wished to happen to serve their personal agenda. It was possible that Earth was open for the taking, the agents having fabricated a resistance for the purpose of disposing of Deep Blue.

Although her objections were answered with citations of the honesty of all those agents sent to Tokyo and of the research conducted to test the truth of their claims, and although most of the people at home sided with the officials they had chosen to lead, Éclair had planted the seeds of doubt in the minds of some. Pai had done a lot of research into Kish's movements and history, suggesting suspicion among the agents. There were many occasions where Kish had intervened with the attempts of the other two and had acted on his own against the parameters of an official plan. Kish had also turned against Deep Blue in the peak of the battle, attacking the leader in order to protect the agent of Earth. Éclair used the evidence against Kish to claim that the failure to acquire Earth was not reflective of the Earth's forces, but proof of the agents' ulterior motives.

Her objections were proven baseless as all three agents were subjected to much investigation upon their return which failed to upturn any betrayal of the people's best interests. The woman tried time and time again to discredit the agents and those who had tested them, even after the planet had been restored and the civilization had begun to regain its potential.

Éclair was widely known for her counter movement. She had her eyes set on the Mother Planet which she claimed the people had been promised since they were children. Éclair had won many followers who supported her objections. They were not certain about the effectiveness of the Mew Aqua. Though, as the substance restored the surface of the ice planet to a usable state, her supporters dwindled and gradually abandoned her stubborn conservative views.

The woman eventually grew frustrated with the new system, though the majority of the people supported it. Her arguments in favor of the continuation of Deep Blue's mission lost their weight as she had little new evidence with which to present them. The new government treated her more as a regular nuisance than as a legitimate position on the issue. With only a handful of others who shared in her loyalty to the former ruler, Éclair finally sent a notice of her plan and set out to a dimension of her own crafting without awaiting a reply. Her dimension proved to be impenetrable from the outside, rendering any hopes of apprehending her futile.

She would carry out Deep Blue's mission with or without the support or permission of the government as reclaiming the Earth would be the best course of action for the protection of their species' future.

Though the threat was not theirs directly, the new elected officials decided to pursue Éclair. It would be an opportunity to establish a possible connection with Earth's forces, which had the potential to progress both civilizations. Besides, Éclair was a criminal for ignoring the rule of the law, and it was their responsibility to lock her up. It was coincidental that it also gave them motivation to contact the Earth. That was the story put out to the press in any case.

The agent Pai held all the information about Earth both from his experience and the data from his models. Though they could have asked to meet with either of the other two agents, Pai seemed the most reliable to speak with as he was the only agent to remain loyal to his leader in the end. While the others were not reprimanded because of the evidence provided in the data on Pai's computers, Pai was the most likely to hold true to his nature and not allow personal motivations to leak into his accounts. It was also fairly well-known amongst officials that Pai had been working on a system that would be compatible with Earth's technology. Such a system was necessary should they wish to contact the Earth's forces.

Pai took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He imagined the responses he would receive from his friends upon reporting the news to them. Typically, Pai shied away from all topics regarding the Earth. He worked on personal projects regarding the technology in private, but he had never discussed them with the other two agents. There was no need to reopen old wounds and speculate about the lives of the friends they left on Earth. Yet, in the current situation, it proved necessary.

He entered the room, quickly making a survey of the area. He did not want to be overheard by anyone lurking in the shadows.

"Yo, Pai, what'd they want to talk about?" Tart asked. The young man floated lazily in midair with his arms behind his head. It was clear by his facial expression that he did not terribly care about the answer, but rather extended it as an expression of courtesy.

"They wanted to talk about the Mew Mews."

The tense silence following Pai's statement was exactly what he had expected. The seldom but few times the Mew Mews were brought up for discussion, the atmosphere would become near suffocating uptight. Kish had always tended to clam up when the team of girls was discussed directly, but Tart used to ramble about them. It wasn't until Tart had started to tense up at their mention that the topic was buried under the tombstone of _UNACCEPTABLE CONVERSATION TOPICS_.

Probability of success: 63.4%

"What about them?" Kish asked shortly. Outwardly, he appeared relaxed, but it was a farce similar to when he tried to trick Pai and act on his own. It was an appearance used exclusively when the Mews were brought up.

"Well, mostly it was about Éclair," Pai amended. The air lightened significantly. The researcher took note of the way in which Tart's jaw muscles relaxed. The boy wasn't one to let his emotions show so clearly, but the Mew Mews were a different situation all together.

"What about _her_?" Kish sounded a little exasperated.

"The officials want us to head her off." Tart reoriented himself so that his feet touched the ground. He watched Pai intently. Kish seemed a little taken aback by the suggestion. Although the investigation had proven them not guilty of treason, he doubted many of the new government officials trusted him enough to send him on a mission of the sort.

"So, you mean—" Tart began excitedly, floating up a little more with each word.

"—that they are _requesting_ that _we—" _ Kish spoke slowly, pronouncing each sound carefully.

"—return to Earth, as allies of the species there," Pai finished, mouth twitching into what could be interpreted as an amused smile as Tart, unable to control his joy, let out a loud yell.

* * *

(WC:1,665)


	5. Introduction: part five

…Hollywood…

The director yelled something about the placement of the set pieces. She hated working for directors who were so quick to yell. Patience was important to getting others to do what you wanted them to.

"I look like a clown," the foreign actress said in perfect English.

The makeup artist, a woman by the name of Vicki, giggled as she coated the actress's face with yet another coat of paint. The actress was so emotive in front of the camera. Her fan base would hardly recognize her if they saw her off the screen. The woman was almost as cynical as they came, and she had no true interest in the social events that her manager set up for her. Vicki couldn't imagine the actress having many friends, let alone a romance. It was simply too estranged from her character. The actress certainly had the persona of a lone wolf, though that was likely due to her lonely childhood more than to her career choice.

Possibly, Vicki theorized, the actress had picked show business in order to escape the characteristics of her own personality. Through acting, she could take on any emotion she needed to, which saved her from the cynical abyss of her own reactions.

"Under the camera lights, you will look as normal as any other person, ma 'me," Vicki promised. She turned to ready the necessary eye makeup. She had to finish with the main actress so she could work on the supporting characters.

"Ph-phone call for you, but make it f-fast!" a man chirped handing the actress a ringing cell phone. The man was shorter than average, and he looked too old for his true age with deep-set bags under his eyes, gray hair, and worried creases across his brow. His name was Yuki Takoma. He was the actress's anxious manager who had followed her over to the States from Japan when she had been asked to act in this movie.

Mr. Takoma always looked as if he was skirting the edges of a panic attack. Vicki wondered if the actress was truly so stressful to manage or if the anxiety was simply a personality trait. The actress hardly seemed to notice the instability of her manager, though she always behaved more kindly when the man looked particularly unstable. Probably, the woman cared for her manager, but her lone wolf personality kept her from expressing it like most of her colleagues did, Vicki decided.

"Hello?" the actress answered in English. Her eyes widened slightly. Mr. Takoma leaned in concerned. He seemed to be debating whether to take the phone from the woman or to allow her to speak with the caller. The director called for the actors to come out onto the set. The manager reached for the phone. He'd take it and let her finish the call after her scene was shot.

In that moment, she stood to her full height. The manager made a timid noise reaching out to take the phone from the actress. The call was clearly upsetting her, though her expression was dead-pan as ever, and she needed to be in control of her emotions in order to successfully complete her scene.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Ryo," she said definitively. Mr. Takoma's eyes widened. Such words were never good when it came to this actress. When she said she'd do anything _as soon as possible_, she truly meant it.

"I assume you've spoken with the others already?" she paused, scratching absently at her makeup. Vicki hid a giggle as the actress smeared the job. Vicki was happy to do it again, but she could just imagine how angry the director would be for the set back.

"Hmm, yes, it's likely a good idea to wait for all of us to be in one country." In the background, the director yelled for the actors to make their way onto the stage. The actress made no move to hang up her phone and excuse herself. She was not the lead role. They did not absolutely need her to complete the filming. That was largely why she took the job. After all, she had been awaiting this phone call for some time.

"Sure. I'll catch a plane to Japan now. Tomorrow afternoon will work wonderfully. I'll let you know before I get to her place."

The woman snapped the phone shut and pushed it into her manager's hand. Without a word she stripped out of her costume and slipped into her usual clothing. The makeup artist raised her eyebrows. The manager stared in horror as the woman silently exited the room. He shook. Vicki ran out to the main stage room.

"Miss Fujiwara walked out just now!" the artist called to the director. The loud sounds from the set suggested the upset of a table or chair or both.

Mr. Takoma chased after the actress, though he could feel the panic quickly overtaking his efforts to will it down. He yelled down the hall after her, his voice breaking.

"Z-ZA-ZAKURO!"

She couldn't worry about sending him into another panic attack right now. She had been waiting for a fresh call to arms for some time. She had been dreaming about those monsters, the Chimeras, for a while. While she was not one of those superstitious girls who thought dreams to be reality, Zakuro couldn't help but believe in the factuality of her dreams as of late—something big was about to happen again. The instinct in her gut told her so.

One thing her dreams made certain to her, it was mandatory that she return to Japan the second she receive the call. It was necessary for the future of the Earth, the purpose of the Final Battle she had fought with her teammates, and for the discovery of what mattered most to her in the world—her reason to fight.

She was the lone wolf of the team, but her dreams suggested that she was more than that. She was their mentor. Many times, Zakuro could remember testing the girls in order to improve them, make them grow into their roles. Since the team broke up, she had wondered if they hadn't taught her just as much. She had pushed them all to find what drove them to keep fighting—Ichigo's love, Lettuce's maternal instincts, Pudding's joy, and even the little dog that Mint protected—each of the girls' motivations were important to their fight. Each of them fought with greater strength when those precious things were threatened.

Zakuro's strength blossomed when she wanted it to. She had no reason to fight. That's what she thought for many years anyway. Her motivation always seemed to change from battle to battle. No one thing inspired her anger. She was ok with that as she was ok with a lot of things. Perhaps her reason to fight was not important, but her guidance was. She had thought a lot about it since the dreams had started. She could accept that answer. Either way, she needed to return to her team.

Mr. Takoma sobbed hysterically as he chased after her. This was the third time she had cancelled last minute for a job. _Surely_, she cared about her career and about how stressful it was to be her manager. Though she was an independent woman, she _surely_ had some compassion. _Surely_, she understood how hard she made it for him. _Surely_, she had to care. However, once again, Mr. Takoma's mental assurances of "surelies" wouldn't change the fact that Zakuro Fujiwara was walking out. Again.

Zakuro couldn't afford to be concerned for the man.

She had people to contact, a specific _someone_ to pick up, a media to deal with; quite frankly, she had things to do.

* * *

(WC:1,326)


	6. Introduction: part six

…東京…

She had things to do. It was only eleven AM, a good six hours before he would be over, but the young woman was already anxious about the date she had at six that night. It would be the first time that her boyfriend saw her at the apartment that she shared with her two best friends. Everything had to be perfect. She woke up at seven to begin her cleaning. She finished with the dining room and kitchen when she realized that she had forgotten to pick up the special ingredients mandatory for the curry that she was planning to make for him. Cooking had always been her forte. It was actually responsible for her meeting her boyfriend. She made a lunch of her special curry, but it was bumped off the table at lunch and spilled on his front. She was so embarrassed, but he had tasted a bit that had hit his hand and liked it. They only started talking because of that incident.

"He already likes you, so _why_ are you freaking out so much? Just _relax_!" her brunette friend yelled, following her down the hall as the young woman searched for a left shoe to match the one yanked onto her right foot. She paid her friend no attention, caught up in her anxieties. She kicked off the right shoe, giving up her search in a fluster, pulling on a complete pair she happened across instead. She was up and searching for a jacket the next instant.

"There's no point in getting so flustered over it! You've already been on dates before and it has gone fine, just like it will this time!" the brunette continued. The woman grabbed her purse, quickly checking that her wallet was inside and hurried for the door. She yanked it open, distinctly not listening to her friend's pleas.

"_Ichigo_!"

"If she wants to obsess over making her date perfect, let her at it, Miwa," the woman lounging on the coach in the living room mediated. The door slammed shut as the frantic woman ran out. The woman on the coach picked up the television clicker and changed the channel absent mindedly. Most times, her roommates were great. Other times, she wished she could afford to rent an apartment by herself.

"I need you to back me up on this, Ichigo! Moe's going to drive herself insane, and _you_ are no help," Miwa barked, pointing at the closed door and glaring at the redhead on the couch. Not receiving a reaction, Miwa threw her hands in the air and spun around. She walked back down the hall and snapped shut the door to her room. Ichigo sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Finding nothing interesting to watch, Ichigo went to switch the television off, but the reporter on screen caught her attention before she finished the action. Well, not the reporter, but the interviewee. The lady reporter was interviewing a tall woman who wore a pair of dark purple shaded glasses. The woman was dressed fashionably. Her deep purple hair hung loose around her shoulders, reaching her middle back. She stood with her arms crossed, a perfect smile plastered to her face. The reporter was talking. Ichigo turned up the volume to hear what was being said.

"_Many people would be jealous of the opportunity you have had, indeed!" the reporter laughed. "What everyone wants to know, I'm sure, is what experiences you have brought back."_

"_Not much, I'm afraid," the interviewee laughed. "Though I did learn to make some new kinds of pastry while I was away."_

"_Ah, a special talent!" the reporter exclaimed. "And so, tell me, how long can Japan expect you to stay before returning to work in the States?" _

_ "As of now, there is not a set time I am requested to return, so I will be home for some time," the star answered tossing her head slightly, her smile maintained unfalteringly. _

"_I think that's all the time we have, but there you have it folks!" the reporter said excitedly, turning to the camera. "Zakuro Fujiwara has officially returned to Japan!"_

Ichigo clicked off the television with a sigh. She needed to find a new hobby to occupy her time. Schoolwork and watching television left too much time for her mind to wander.

The fashion model Zakuro Fujiwara had once been a good friend of hers. The two had been members of a project along with three other girls. The Mew Mew Project. Two rich high schoolers nearing graduation ran the project. They were Keiichiro Akasaka who managed the computer and lab work of the project and doubled as the chef of the café they used as a headquarters and Ryo Shirogane who shared some of the mutation that the girls experience, having tested the experiment on himself before initiating the project. The five girls were each infused with the DNA of endangered species in hopes that the survival instincts of the animals would aid in protecting the Earth from the alien threat facing it. They called themselves Tokyo Mew Mew. Each girl was able to transform into a powerful form that incorporated their animal features. Ichigo was the leader, the first one affected by the mutation. Though they had no military affiliation, the Mew Mews fought the forces of an alien race, saving the world from a takeover. Each could call on a weapon specific to them, enabling them to face the monsters called chimera animals and dispel the alien parasite from the animal or human soul it had infected.

Tokyo Mew Mew had been disbanded four and a half years ago after they had faced and destroyed the strongest enemy, an alien named Deep Blue who took over the body of her boyfriend Masaya Aoyama. Though they all continued work at the Café they used as their base for about half a year after the project dissolved, the girls and Masaya all eventually carried on with their personal lives.

Ichigo only remained in contact with Masaya. Saved by the power of the legendary Mew Aqua in the aftermath of the final battle, Masaya left for college in England to research and protect the environment of the Earth, studying with a focus on the endangered species used in the Mew Mew Project. He promised to return to her when his studies had ended. They had kept contact through the years.

Masaya would call in the early morning or late night when hours they were both awake coincided in the two time zones. He began by calling twice every day. Then, as school became more demanding, he would only call once. As his time in England progressed, he called less and less frequently until he only called once or twice every week. Ichigo forgave him as she was certain he was trying his hardest on his work so he could get through school swiftly.

His few phone calls were the height of her week. The promise of a phone call pulled her through any trouble she faced. But his phone calls eventually ceased completely. For weeks, not one word from Masaya reached her. She grew anxious, concerned for his well-being. What if something had happened to him and no one knew to alert her? When his call finally came, his tone had changed. Unlike the usual joyful tone he used, Masaya's voice sounded tired and he didn't talk much. He dumped her, saying he found someone in England who he found he loved more than Ichigo. It was a girl named Eira Caston.

Just like that, Ichigo's world crashed around her ears. He had left her as he'd promised to never do. She lost contact with the other Mew Mews years prior, so she couldn't even talk to someone who remotely understood how much Masaya meant to her. She had no job, having left the café. Her grades slipped dangerously. She still lived with her parents then, and they couldn't understand the extent of her emotions. She hadn't ever told them about her role in Tokyo Mew Mew or anything she experienced because of her involvement. She hadn't told anyone who wasn't connected to the project. There was no way that they would understand if she were explain that she had risked her life and the future of the world for Masaya during the final battle. Therefore, how could they possibly understand the pain of being dumped by him? Her parents and friends just thought she was in shock, but as the symptoms persisted, they decided she was overreacting and lectured her. Ichigo soon found that faking a smile was the best way to combat their criticism.

Her mutation was the most concerning side effect of the breakup. After years of containing them as Ryo taught her as he controlled his own mutation, Ichigo's feline features slipped from her control, emerging at inopportune times as they had done when she was first affected by the experiment. She struggled to hide the emergence of a pair of black cat ears and a tail from everyone in her life, more afraid of being revealed than she was when Tokyo Mew Mew was an active feature in the public eye. Back then, she had been afraid they would think her a freak. Now, she was afraid of their reproach for her not informing them sooner.

Moe and Miwa, her best friends since middle school sympathized with Ichigo the most, both girls of suppressed romanticism who were also depressed by Masaya's actions. Moe and Miwa pictured Masaya and Ichigo as the perfect couple and clung to the belief that nothing could disrupt the perfect couple. The breakup threw the theory back in their faces. They tried to pull Ichigo up out of her downward spiral, but Ichigo had begun to act very strangely. The redhead would make hurried excuses or would simply run away when the three hung out, always with an arm thrown over her head and the other securely pressed to the back of her hips. Such a reaction was a common one that began in middle school, but Ichigo acted strangely so much more often than she had when they were younger.

The three girls had come to an agreement to take out a joint lease for an apartment where they could all live together for the final year of high school. They would figure out what they intended to do after schooling when the end of the year arrived, but sharing an apartment before graduation gave each of them more freedom. If it didn't work out and they weren't mature enough to hold house yet, they could easily pull back out of the deal and return to their parent's homes. The lease was a promise that they would always support one another no matter what the conditions. So far, the girls had lived together for two months since the ending of the previous school year. Though they sometimes aggravated one another, Ichigo and her friends were positive that their living conditions were ideal, and they usually got along wonderfully.

Ichigo had cheered up a little due to the close proximity with her friends. The women were a little out of control a lot of the time, daydreaming and creating factitious suppositions of romance and lovey things. Ichigo enjoyed becoming immersed in their lives rather than focusing on the failing of hers. She and Miwa had convinced Moe to ask out Shigure Yamata—the one who Moe had a date with that night; just as She and Moe encouraged Miwa to act on her crush—though the brunette refused to tell them any details, Ichigo and Moe took note of the many love poems scrawled in the backs of Miwa's notebooks and in the corners of her school worksheets. The happiness of her friends distracted Ichigo from her depression, the side effects of her chronically bad mood beginning to lift along with it, though she found her genetic anomalies persisted.

* * *

(WC:2,023)


	7. Return to Tokyo: part one

…不再在中國…

Keeping her genes under control was the hardest part of studying at the 金狨 school. She really had to put aside time in her busy schedule of being a proper and respectable young woman in order to thoroughly _thank_ the scientists behind the Mew Mew project for infecting her with such a troublesome condition. Most of the time, it was no problem; however, it was a different question entirely when she was excited. The only apparent requirement to trigger the reaction was a speeding heartbeat. The excitement did not need to be happy per say, though happy excitement triggered the partial transformation more reliably than any other time.

Pudding tilted her head down a little, shifting her shoulder length hair so that it fully covered her ears as she walked through the security check point. It would be a lot of trouble if the security personnel noticed her furry earlobes.

Consistently, she had a harder time controlling her ears than her tail, perhaps because keeping the tail from emerging above her waistline took most of her concentration. It had happened a few times before she realized what was happening and the tail would pick up the back of her dress—a quite indecent display of tomfoolery, in the words of Mother-Sensei. Pudding thanked her stars that the woman assumed it was one of her childish antics and didn't inspect the article more closely.

For what it was worth, Pudding was very proud of how effectively she kept her genetic mutation a secret since the commencement of the Mew Mew project. As the team had been warned by Ryo once their mission was completed and Earth saved, the girl's genetic integration developed over the years. Within the first year of the project, Ichigo, the team's leader, had already begun to experience the effects of the mutation outside of the purposeful transformation. Her cat ears and tail would appear unwilled quite often. The problem had progressed so far as turning the girl into the full form of a cat. Pudding's mutation had not advanced to that level as of yet. And as long as the emergence continued to occur based on her emotional state, the problem was still manageable.

The male security guard smiled kindly as Pudding gathered her carry-on baggage. Pudding returned the gesture with a polite one of her own, turning her eyes away, careful to avoid eye contact. Her eyes turned orange when her animal traits started to emerge. She did not need him looking at her twice. She was just a number in the crowd, just a teenager traveling home, just a young lady in a golden-orange dress, nothing special.

Pudding hurried to the flight gate. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

Thump. She touched an ear, ensuring that the hair covered it completely.

Thump. She closed her eyes a moment as she rode an escalator to the upper floor, willing her body to behave.

Thump. She absently touched her dress, searching for any stress or pull that would be present if her tail made itself known.

Thump. She leaned back against the wall of the terminal, examining the directional signs overhead, searching out the direction of her gate number.

"Excuse me, ma'me."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the man's polite intrusion. He needed directions to gate12, and wondered if she could help him read the signs. His accent sounded decidedly American. He did not read Chinese. The signs were not only written in Chinese she wanted to yell at him, but her conditioned good-manner got in the way of her impulse. Politely she instructed him in the correct direction, simultaneously trying to calm her nerves. He thanked her and walked off in distinctly the incorrect direction. Pudding rolled her eyes and made no move to save him.

Her gate was at the end of the terminal. She calmly picked up her bag, and that's when she felt it—the soft tickle of fur on her legs. Pudding straightened instantly, glancing around quickly to see if anyone in the terminal had taken notice of her. To her relief, none had done so. It still didn't hurt to proceed cautiously. Experimentally, the blond girl flexed her tail, attempting to remove as much contact between tail and dress as possible. She needed a bathroom.

Across the wide hall, Pudding saw the little illuminated RESTROOM sign. It was maybe fifty feet of exposure in which she could be apprehended and her secret divulged to a multitude of strangers. Silently, the girl wondered if her old friends ever got themselves into such stressful situations. Desperately, her eyes searched along her wall for a closer bathroom. As she had suspected, the sign across the hall was the only indication of a bathroom within her entire visual field. It was just her luck.

"Fucking Ryo and Keiichiro and their projects," she mumbled to herself just the slightest bit bitterly. If those two had just kept their research to the subject of carbon dioxide in the rainforest... But Pudding knew she was grateful for the Mew Mew project. It allowed her to find her first friends; it supplied her most powerful experience of her life to date.

Taking a deep breath, Pudding hurried the distance to the bathroom. The whole way, the tucked her tail deep between her legs, wrapping it around her left thigh to keep it from slipping from her control. With each step she checked that it did not slip into visibility. She could feel every pair of eyes in the area on her figure, though in reality, no one took notice of her. She was just a number in the crowd, just a teenager traveling home, just a young lady in a golden-orange dress, nothing special.

She slipped inside, turning into the first stall and securely locking the door. She placed her bag on the ground by her feet, letting her tail untwine itself from her leg. It bounced skyward. Pudding sighed, tugging at the appendage. The joyful curl at the tip that she loved seemed to mock her now. Her hand pulled on the end while she calmed her mind, her eyes closed. Breathing exercises. That is what she needed. Slowly she calmed her nerves, although she knew they would spike again once she was on board the airplane. Soaring through the sky in an iron tank was not her first choice of travel.

Calmed down enough that the tail and furry ears returned into her perfectly naught-but-homo-sapien appearing body, Pudding unlocked the stall. She splashed some water on her face at the sinks. It was cool and reassuring. She would be home presently and maybe this year she would run into one of her old friends. The scientists of Tokyo Mew Mew had been away on a research trip for the last few years, and Pudding had not heard from any of her friends from the café since she had left for school and lost contact with Lettuce. It would be fun to meet up with her friends again this summer. They had not seen each other for long enough, in her opinion. Pudding could tell them all about the development of her mutation and see if any of them had grown into similar problems.

The airplane stood at the end of a metallic tunnel with a carpeted floor, as if the airport was attempting to give such a cold, frightening place a homey feeling. The notion was ridiculous. Nonetheless, the blond girl smiled brightly and bowed slightly to the flight attendant just outside the airplane's door as if nothing were wrong with the presentation of the tunnel.

Once on board, it was fairly easy to find her seat—one next to the window, right over the right wing of the plane. A man who sat in front of her helped her to deposit her carry-on luggage in the overhead compartment. That done, she settled into the seat, delicately intertwining her fingers, resting her hands on her lap.

It was only a four and a half hour flight to Narita International Airport. Four and a half hours wasn't that long at all. The plane would be touching down before she even oriented herself to taking off. She repeated those reassurances to herself as a mantra. Her tail had resurfaced at some point while she patiently waited for the plane's occupants to fill the empty seats around her. It was hardly the same problem when she was sitting down as when she stood.

Absently her tail fussed at the fabric of her dress, touching up just beneath her folded fingers anxiously. Pudding Fong was not particularly fond of flying.

(WC:1,471)


	8. Return to Tokyo: part two

…Pas plus à Paris…

She dreamed of blue skies, cities far below her as she caught the air currents. When she had first dreamed of flight, she had been scared, begged the birds to leave her; she was not ready to follow them in their migration. She had rejected the desire and hid it beneath layers on layers of control and poise.

Yet, she let her control slip, let the layers dissolve, spread her wings and took flight.

The audience was not aware of the all too realistic danger swirling on stage. Surely, the monster must be the product of magnificent prop work. The prop moved more naturally than it had in any of the practices. Its movements were too fluid, too connected, too _real_. The performers knew it was not a trick. The practiced fear and panic they practiced for hours transformed into the true emotion.

The mechanic in control of the sounds and the steam that came from the prop's mouth and nose was unconscious just beyond the edge of the audience's view, stage-left.

Mint recognized the beast for what it was instantly, though she delayed a moment, reassuring herself that it must be another bad dream, another recollection of her time at Café Mew Mew. She stood stock still, nerves frozen, immobile. The beast blew steam toward the other dancers, sending them fleeing in panic; however, it did not pursue them further than that. It raised its head to the stage ceiling, letting loose a mighty roar. As it turned its attention back to the stage at its feet, it lunged for the Japanese woman as if she was its target all along.

What happened next, Mint could not be certain, she could remember the sensation of flying as the beast knocked her off her feet with a swing of its tail. Flying through the air as she shot back towards the hard wall to the side of the stage, but the impact she anticipated never came. All she felt was the sensation of flying, all the rest was a blur.

"Vous étiez comme Vénus dans une croisade de 'amour contre les couloirs de l'enfer, mon petit chou."

Tiffany's whisper was hot against Mint's ear as the ballerina swayed and walked off stage, but the woman was only half-listening. She had not even seen her friend so close until she heard her voice. It did not matter, however, since Mint realized the gravity of her reaction to the chimera. Although she had dispatched it and no one had been injured, Mint knew that it meant the end of her career. She would never be cast for any show again. Her time in France, chasing her dream, had ended.

Backstage, the troupe was in uproar, running about and conversing in heated hisses, waiting for direction. Upon seeing the Japanese performer, the other ballerinas fell silent; they were nervous. Mint ignored the rest of her troupe, heading straight for her changing room. Distantly, she could hear the crowd beginning to panic as emergency responders began to arrive and handle the situation. None of that was important. She was sentenced back to Japan anyhow. If she was lucky, her career would be the only thing arrested.

Tiffany followed her inside, an arm protectively around her shoulders. The Amazon dancer shot meaningful looks at anyone they passed, making it clear that it was a bad idea to confront Mint about the event. The ballerinas flinched back from the duo as they made their way to the changing room. Once they were inside, Tiffany locked the door.

"I know you hate to run, but for now, you need to do it," the Tiffany said calmly. Her words were spoken in Japanese. She wanted to be sure Mint understood exactly what she said. Her voice was all business.

Mint spun to face the woman behind her. Tiffany was strong. Now more than ever, Mint saw a warrior in the woman's stance, not a ballerina. She fixed Mint within the electric folds of her dark blue irises. The small dancer felt her heart freeze. She had never seen Tiffany so serious before. The Amazon ballerina had a likeness to a military leader. Neither the chimera nor Mint's wings appeared to have surprised her any.

"Get changed," the strong woman ordered, her tranquil calm never rippling the slightest. Mint opened her mouth to say something—a thank you, an explanation, an inquiry. No sound rose from her throat, so she closed it and quickly did as she was told.

She changed her clothes a thousand times in front of the other dancers without a problem, yet, Tiffany's icy stare chilled her bones as the cloth slipped over her skin. Mint knew the woman's eyes rested upon her shoulders—upon the small set of wings printed there like a birthmark. She often played them off as a tattoo, but now there was no denying that they marked her as a freak. The wings appeared when her body was mutated. It was the symbol of a Mew Mew.

"I'll get you to the airport. You must get on the first plane out of Paris." When Mint stood again, dressed in her casual clothes, the Amazon stood watching the door in thought. It was an attempt to indicate she hadn't watched Mint change—hadn't seen the symbol on her back. Mint knew better than that.

Tiffany was scared. For some reason, that fact disappointed Mint more than the fear of the entire troupe. Tiffany was _supposed_ to be resilient. Mint had always imagined that the woman would embrace the secret. It was supposed to be the two of them against the world. Tiffany was not supposed to be frightened. She was not supposed to stand in front of the locked door of Mint's dressing room, arms crossed, eyes hard, focused on something distant while her painted fingernails dug into her strong biceps. She was not supposed to be afraid.

The sound slipped from Mint's throat before she could reel it back in. Once it escaped there was no stopping it—she cried. Tiffany unfolded her arms like a praying mantis. The harsh light in her eyes transformed instantly. The new look they held was a mixture of guilt, sadness, compassion and nerves. She pulled Mint to her breast, securely holding the small woman in place with near no effort. Embarrassed, Mint tightened her jaw, ordering her tears to stop. She was pathetic like this.

"Vous avez dit que vous m'aimiez …" Mint whispered in little more than a breath against the larger woman's leotard. Tiffany's arms slackened, releasing the Japanese dancer. Quicker than Mint had time to respond, Tiffany had gently pushed her backwards, opened the door, and stepped forward to leave.

"Je dois parler avec le réalisateur. Vous devez partir."

With that final statement, the warrior ballerina strode through the door. Mint's legs gave out beneath her. She crumbled to the floor in a mess of tears and gasps. It was not the first time she had experienced heartbreak. Show business was not conductive of romance, Mint knew. As a woman, chasing after other women was inappropriate in and of itself, Mint knew. She was too emotional to protect herself, Mint _knew_. Yet, she was never ready for the pain that went hand in hand with rejection. She would never grow used to the feeling.

As many times as she had been used to improve a girl's chances on the stage; as many times as she had been lead on by older performers for a lark; as many times as she had fallen for the wrong woman who would never, could never return her feelings, Mint never suspected Tiffany to be one of the heartbreakers. Mint was not so delusional as to think that she and Tiffany would spend their lives together, but she had always expected she would be the one to break off their relationship, not the strong woman.

Straightening her pale arms, Mint pushed herself up from the cold floor. She was pathetic—pathetic and foolish. Of course she could not expect Tiffany to take the mutation in stride. If she had not been a part of the Mew Project, she would react the same way if someone she knew sprouted animal traits, no matter her previous relation to them. It was silly to hold other people to standards that she couldn't even uphold herself.

She wiped at her face. Tiffany was right. She needed to get to the airport, to get out of Paris; she could not stay here any longer.

…

The taxi driver carried out her sole suitcase, depositing it beside her on the hard concrete of the sidewalk and waiting for his payment. Mint paid and thanked him quickly. The sooner she was gone the sooner her heart would calm down. The man pulled away from the curb. The woman forced down a gulp.

It was her choice to leave, she assured herself. It was a half-truth. She constructed an explanation to give her family upon her return to Tokyo. Although she did not want to appear before her housekeeper and brother as a failure, where else was she to go but Tokyo?

And although she did not want to fight a war for the planet again, Mint knew she needed to contact the café. Ryo and Keiichiro needed to know that the chimeras had returned to Earth. It was the least she could do for them.

* * *

(WC:1,579)


	9. Return to Tokyo: part three

…京都からの脱出…

[12 June 09:45] MS: I have my first final today! Biology. Wish me luck!

Exam week was always stressful, even though she never had any problems studying and earning good grades. Nonetheless, the tension that hung in the air like week-old air freshener was nearly smothering. The whole campus seemed to undergo lockdown as everyone tried to reread every textbook, duplicate every lecture, and work through every practice problem that had been given them throughout the entire semester.

The slackers took the hit the hardest. Having shirked class responsibilities all of the half-year, they rushed to look over everything for the first time. Many of them sought out help from students at the top of the class. It was only in finals week that Lettuce found that she magically had a bunch of friends who had been _meaning_ to talk to her all year, but kept getting held up with things like actual social lives. She didn't mind, however. After all, she loved learning and helping people, so the two combined were excellent. The young woman often joked with her family that she was a natural born professor—disliked by most students, but intelligent and a good resource when they needed her.

[12 June 10:13] MS: I do better in English than sciences usually, but I'm still pretty confident that the test went alright.

Exam week was the one time that the girls in her dorm house relaxed their zero-tolerance policy with her that they upheld so strictly the rest of the year. Yuki, who lived across from the laundry room, came and knocked politely on Lettuce's door so she could compare answers on the statistics review the professor gave them. Sakura, who lived in the middle room of the basement hall, caught up with Lettuce in the dining hall to beg the woman to read over an essay she wrote. Haruki, who lived in the room adjacent to the bathroom, stopped the woman before she entered the mail room to request a formula list she has lost earlier in the semester. Misaki, who lived next door to Lettuce, shyly approached the girl in the bathroom to ask for clarification on the last book they read in English.

After another semester full of hate, Lettuce only agreed to help the women withholding her elevated suspicion. She expected them to attack her again at any moment. The others, however, showed no indication of harming her in any way. The stress of exam week was so much that they hadn't the energy. And, of course, Lettuce could never find it in her heart to hold a grudge; though, as far as character flaws go, she didn't think it was a terrible one.

[13 June 23:47] Hey, CD! What's up?

[14 June 00:10] MS: So grades for the early exams were posted tonight.

[14 June 00:10] MS: I passed both of mine!

Some of the girls held onto their previous animosity. Emily Honda and Mari Tatsunori were two of this class. Lettuce pissed them off and exam week stress only fueled their dislike for her. Emily threatened to cut off Lettuce's hair whenever she saw her, sometimes even presenting her scissors. When she slept, Lettuce started to lock her door in fear that the woman would sneak in and do it in the night. Mari took out her frustration on Lettuce's belongings—knocked her books off the table in the common room while Lettuce used the bathroom, stole her laptop charger and put it in the shower, stole a notebook and ran water over it in the sink, hung her clothes from tree limbs when Lettuce put them in the washing machine.

[14 June 00:13] MS: Emily failed the English exam or something like that.

[14 June 00:15] MS: Mari just barely passed it. She might've gotten the lowest passing score.

[14 June 00:17] MS: I passed it, so obviously my fault they did badly.

[14 June 00:18] MS: Sounds logical, right? :0P

Even so, Lettuce fought it with extra politeness. She was very courteous whenever she happened to bump into either of the threatening women. However, more and more it wore her down.

Mostly, Lettuce missed her internet friend. Usually he responded within half a day from when she sent him something, but he hadn't responded to a single message she sent since the beginning of the week. It made her a little nervous, though she told herself that she had no reason to be. She didn't even know what his face looked like. He didn't know what _her_ face looked like. He was millions of miles away, getting on with his life instead of wasting his time speaking with a foolish college girl. Lettuce had no doubts that he was older than she. He was too mature and level-headed to be anywhere near her age. She didn't think about the age difference all that often, but it was a clear answer when he had been silent for so long.

She intrigued him for a while, but he had grown bored. It was likely because she complained to him so often. There was only so much girly whining a person could handle.

[16 June 14:55] MS: My laptop officially died an hour ago, so I emailed my final paper to myself and now I'm working on it on this computer.

[16 June 15:13] MS: Can I send it to you to proof read?

[16 June 15:20] MS: It's for my History of Philosophy class.

[16 June 15:21] MS: I just figured you may be able to help since you seem to like when we talk about that class.

[16 June 15:45] MS: Um, ok, so I'm going to send it, just in case you feel like reading it when you come back on…

[16 June 15:52] MS: Here you go! :0)

[16 June 15:55] MS: _Attached_: Final Essay-Refute of Parmenides United Exist

As the week drew to a close without a single word from her friend, Lettuce began to accept that, like with all her friendships, some shortcoming of her own lead to its demise.

Maybe it was because she was so needy whenever she had a small problem in her life. She always ran to him and expected him to pick her up and reassure her that things would work out. He never talked much about himself, so she assumed that his life was stable and problem-free, which was ridiculous if not impossible if she only took a second to think about it.

Maybe it was because she only talked about points of personal interest. Although he seemed to be interested in the tidbits of information that she shared with him, she had never actually asked him if he found it as interesting as she did. Perhaps he had simply grown bored of the two-dimensional conversations.

Maybe it was because she complained so often about the way the other girls treated her. If she had maybe internalized some of her frustration, would he have continued to talk to her? It was hard to tell. She felt that CD was the kind person that could never be fully understood, though she felt that she knew him well enough to predict his reactions. Maybe it was the pompousness of the assumption that lead to the end of their contact.

...

Lettuce checked the small screen of her mobile phone as she stood in Kyoto station, awaiting the arrival of the JR Tokaido train to Shinagawa Station. The cheery porpoise background lit up when she woke the phone. The clock in the corner read 17 June 9:36. Other than the date and time, the screen was blank. Exam week was finished. She had waited until Monday to leave school. He still hadn't replied to anything she sent.

The green haired woman released a sigh, tucking away her phone as the train pulled in. Her summers were typically spent holed up in the library. She didn't really want to spend her time at home, and she no longer had a job to go to, so the library was a perfect escape. She wasn't expected to be social, no one criticized her, and she was able to read to her hearts content. Even so, Lettuce hoped on the small chance that she would be able to return to her friends and job at Café Mew Mew this summer.

She had worked at the frilly café through middle school until the owners left on to conduct research on the environmental state of the Amazon in Brazil. When the café closed, it was only she and Ichigo Momomiya still working the café. She hadn't heard from Ichigo or the café owners since. The other girls had lost contact with her long before. They had all shared special memories, but like everyone, they had more exciting things going on in their lives than talking to Lettuce.

Lettuce gathered her luggage and found herself an uncomfortable seat beside a window on the train. She gazed out absently, letting melancholy seep into the creases of her mind. It was her most common and near-all-encompassing emotion, though she hardly let on that she was bothered. She half-heartedly wondered at which point her optimism had undergone the metamorphosis to pessimism.

The woman jolted as the train began to move. The movement to startle her came from within her pocket. Quickly she drew out her phone, hope quickly replacing her melancholy. The reversal was short lived. The alert on the screen came from a private number and the preview of the message read:

[17 June 9:38] We would like you…

Rolling her eyes with another sigh, Lettuce placed the phone atop her lap. She returned her gaze to the morning landscape outside the train's window. Telemarketing. She heard reports that conmen often discovered your number from somewhere and sent you messages to try and pull you in. So far, she was careful of where she placed her phone number, but she knew that didn't make her immune.

The phone buzzed again in her lap twenty minutes later. With less enthusiasm than before, Lettuce glanced down. Her phone would continue buzzing periodically unless she looked at the alert. Same as last time, the number was private. The preview of this second message caused her heart to skip a beat—not the heart's skip of excitement or embarrassment, but of fear.

In cold, Courier New typeface, the preview read:

[17 June 9:58] Mew Mew Lettuce!...

She stared at the previewed message with wide eyes, her blood running cold. No one knew the secret of her genetic mutation other than the members of the old team. She had kept it her closest secret for years. Even as her mutation began to emerge more regularly, she worked hard to keep it a secret.

With slightly shaky fingers, she opened the message window. It read:

[17 June 9:58] Mew Mew Lettuce! We are aware that you are on a train, which gives you plenty of free time to respond to our message!

Lettuce gulped, closing the message again. Quickly she glanced around for anyone watching her. How could the private number know where she was? How did the private number know her name? How did the private number know about her secret? Hastily she flipped back up the conversation to the first message the private number had sent to her.

Lettuce giggled after reading it. She felt like such a moron. Here she was, overreacting for no reason. Gingerly she typed out her reply and sent it. She sat back and smiled at the sky. Perhaps this summer would be more exciting than one spent tucked into the corner of the library.

[17 June 9:38] We would like you to come back in to the café, Lettuce. Some things have come up recently and we need your help. We are contacting the rest of the team as well. Can we count on you to give us a hand?—Keiichiro Akasaka.

[17 June 9:58] Mew Mew Lettuce! We are aware that you are on a train, which gives you plenty of free time to respond to our message!

[17 June 10:04] I'm coming home today, but I can drop by tomorrow afternoon. Sounds exciting!—Lettuce

[17 June 10:05] And, Ryo, you best control that temper when you talk to Ichigo or she might not be as nice as I.—Lettuce

(WC: 2,127)


	10. Return to Tokyo: part four

…maison doux maison...

Being back in Japan was good for her health. She had been far too stressed in Europe with all the competition and back stabbing that took place in the dance business. As much as she enjoyed it while she was over there, it was all really too much. She could hardly understand how she had left for Europe so confident and carefree.

Being back at home was lovely. It was a remedy to all the bad feelings she harbored on the plane ride from Paris. It was something familiar. Yet, similarly, everything was different now than it had been.

Like the tea.

Mint had always enjoyed taking her tea at precisely three o'clock—a habit she had dropped in the last few years. French tea was too different from Japanese tea; and besides, she took her tea with too much milk and sugar anyway. Of course, she'd substituted out the sugar for a sweetener. Though, even with sweetener and skim milk, tea was not conducive to her strict dancer's diet. 86 calories, 12g carbohydrates, 12g sugar in the skim milk; 3 calories, 1g carbohydrate in the sweetener. [not to mention the 9 calories, .1g fat, 2g carbohydrates, and .2 g sugar in this ginger tea itself that she was now drinking.] It wasn't worth it, the troupe trainer told her time and time again.

All in all, she preferred to save the calories she allowed into her system for more substantial things that would give her the energy needed for practices. She wouldn't normally waste them on a cup of tea. However, it was a necessary element of returning home, so she would partake this once, though she'd have to watch that it didn't become a habit again.

Her housekeeper also supplied her with a small plate of ginger cookies to go with the ginger tea. 360 calories, 2.5g fat, 23g carbohydrates, 11g sugar. She was already indulging herself with the tea. Discretely, she let the cookies slide off her plate and into the bushes beside her table when her housekeeper had left her alone in the garden.

Mint hummed and took a sip from her cup—a sip that probably shouldn't have felt as fulfilling as it did sliding down her throat. The sun was warm, but it hardly bothered her. The smell of the air was distinctly not French when she took a deep breath. She needed to figure out how she was going to proceed from this point on, but for now, it was pleasant having a minute to sit down and relax. She hadn't truly relaxed in years.

"Mint! You have a call," her housekeeper called across the garden as she approached the dancer. Mint calmly replaced her teacup and saucer on the table and turned to the old woman. Only half the cup was drunk—49 calories, 6g carbohydrates, 6.1g sugar, .1g fat. The old woman held a phone out for Mint to take. She held it with the receiver covered so that the caller could not hear her calling out to the young woman. Mint stood so her housekeeper needn't shuffle the full distance to her.

Mint slowly raised the phone to her ear. Who would be calling her?

She had given her number to a few of her fellow dancers, and to the manager of their troop. However, the number she had supplied was that of her cell phone. Besides, they had no reason to contact her as it was crystal clear she should not return to the European stage.

In Japan, she didn't have many friends, and certainly none that she had contacted in recent years. She looked to her housekeeper only to find that the woman had turned and started walking back to the house. Mint cleared her throat, pushing aside all her reservations. Business was business no matter who was on the other end of the line.

"Mint Aizawa speaking," she answered cordially. The tone in her voice was foreign. It was a façade she had learned in the theater. No matter your personal emotions, your health, or even your physical state, you always put up a strong, cheerful expression. The weak were sent home—and despite having returned home under the circumstances she had done so, Mint was not weak.

Mint always hated being so dishonest, though the waxy façade was mandatory for success. The affect felt wrong in her mouth. She had always been the kind of girl to let people know exactly where they stood with her, exactly the state of her mood. Yet, she had practiced away that honesty for the sake of her career. The career she would never practice again.

"Ryo Shirogane," the male voice on the other end of the line identified smoothly.

Mint felt her lungs clench and freeze. It took her a second to restart respiration.

"How did you get my home number, Ryo?" Mint demanded, her affect melting instantly. Surprise and fear seeped into her practiced tone. She was upset, unsettled. The blood rushed quickly into her cheeks. Had he heard of her fiasco in France? Had news of her revealed secret travelled so quickly?

She had no desire to return to her old role on his team. The café was the only place she had ever managed to make friends. The Project was the thing that had pulled her from her aloof and detached outlook on life. She had fought alongside her teammates; died alongside them; fallen in and out of love alongside them; saved the world alongside them. The Project is what changed her, in more ways than one. However,, now she was a dishonored freak. As much as Mint hoped the other girls had come into success, she couldn't face them in the light of her own failure.

"It's in the phone book since it's a house line," Ryo explained calmly, though he could doubtlessly hear her voice crack. He sighed lightly into the receiver. "Ichigo asked the same thing…"

Mint hesitated before she responded, a thousand thoughts rushing through her head. Ichigo. First of the team with whom she had lost contact when she left for Europe was Ichigo, her first true friend, the first Mew Mew. The girl's name brought more pain than Mint had expected, perhaps due to what Mint expected of Ichigo's life after these last five years.

The girl likely had a steady job—she was such a ready, hard worker; probably, she had established a successful house—she loved Masaya Aoyama so much, and the two were so compatible; certainly, Ichigo would have achieved success—the girl rarely if ever settled for less; Ichigo had always been the lead of the Project; Mint had always been cast in the supporting role; such, Mint theorized, was reflective of their lives.

"I'm not coming back, Ryo," Mint informed the man quietly. She stared down at her feet, willing away the depressing thoughts that threatened to overtake her. "I'm not a Mew Mew anymore, and I can't—"

Her sentence was cut short by a loud sound, the like of shrieking car brakes. She looked up and through the garden gate to where the circular driveway curved in front of the house. The car was the like of a mechanic's partially-constructed vehicle, with patterns of rust crawling up the sides and an old paint job that needed to be retouched. Mint did admit that it looked pretty cool, even if it wasn't the kind of vehicle that usually pulled in front of her house. Her housekeeper, who had yet to reach the house, changed course, shuffling instead towards the garden gate to provide assistance for the poor soul who had clearly lost control and skid into the driveway.

The driver side door of the beat up car opened, and an elegant womanly figure emerged. The woman was slim without pronounced curves, similar to Mint's own build. She had long, silky, violet hair that fell around her shoulders and reached her mid-back. The woman's clothing was fashionable. The mysterious woman looked the like of many of the guests that Mint had encountered since her childhood, though the woman's ride was questionable. The woman raised an elegant hand to her face. Mint noticed the deep purple nail polish that adorned the woman's fingertips despite the distance between them. Slowly the visitor removed a pair of dark purple sunglasses.

Her movements were elegant despite their simplicity. She moved like a dancer. The woman was definitely fashionable enough to be a model. Her figure and hair was beautiful enough that she could be an actress. Mint only knew one such human being. Ryo was saying something into the phone, but Mint could barely hear what he was telling her, or asking her, or whatever the sounds meant.

The woman tossed her head, throwing the individual hairs into the air in a likeness to the sun's rays. Mint was entranced. She had hardly seen such a beautiful woman in years. Sure, the ballerinas that performed in her troop were pretty, but none of them came close to the magnificence of an attractive Japanese woman.

"Mint," the woman called out authoritatively—her hair settling around her shoulders.

Mint felt her heart stutter to a stop for a moment. Rarely did she encounter a person who felt they could use so harsh a tone with her. Her troop manager and various directors were the only ones to dare to practice the harshness in recent years, though Mint knew many of her fellow ballerinas adopted it behind her back when they assumed she couldn't hear them. Yet, this mysterious visitor claimed authority over the young woman without introducing herself; without looking at the young woman; without using more than just Mint's _name._ The woman spun around, her burning eyes boring into Mint's wide ones.

The authoritative visitor finished her command, "Get in the car."

With a flick of her delicate index finger, Zakuro Fujiwara pointed to the hood of the beat up car she had stolen from her manager. Mint's jaw dropped. The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Zakuro's lips.

Mint had always been putty in her hands. The girl would obey the command. Zakuro had come all the way from America to pick up the young woman. She _would_ get into the car.

"See you soon, Mint," Ryo said cheerfully from the phone receiver.

* * *

(WC: 1,767)


	11. Return to Tokyo: part five

…猫狼と鳥…

The worst thing about being a cat, Ichigo reasoned, was when she was…well, a cat. She darted along the sidewalk, zigzagging between people's legs in a panic. The dog was somewhere behind her. She could hear him, smell him, _feel_ his presence in the tingling hairs on her back. No matter which way she ran or jumped or darted, Ichigo couldn't seem to shake the pursuing canine.

The occasional ears and tail emergence was fairly normal when she got too excited, but it had been a long time since she had last undergone a full transformation. When she was younger and the problematic trait of her mutation first emerged, she thought the only way to avoid becoming a cat was to avoid kissing. It worked for the most part, but there were still times when it happened despite her efforts. There was always someone there to save her with a kiss or a soft touch of the nose in those days.

Over the years she realized that method of control was too simple. The transformation wasn't restricted to kissing, but any action that sped her heart rate—excitement, fear, long distance running. Since then, she'd learned to control the transformation, similar to Ryo—who could change at will. She hadn't found a way to _become _a cat because she wanted to do so, but she had discovered how to _prevent _the metamorphosis. Even so, slip ups sometimes happened, and she hadn't quite reached the mastery level at which she could reverse the transformation. She still hadn't undergone a full transformation in some sizable number of months.

But now, today, the 18th of June, that method had fallen through. It was an accident—as it always was when these things happened. Ichigo was simply walking along, returning home from a restaurant trip when the girl appeared. The girl wasn't there when Ichigo reached the corner, but at some time between then and when the former Mew decided to walk up the street as opposed to waiting for the light to change, the girl took her place beside the redhead. Ichigo barely had time to recognize she was falling over the girl before she had transformed into a cat.

The girl blinked down at her. Her wide eyes were the color of amber. Ichigo took half a moment to examine the two braided loops the girl wore—one on either side of her head; her bangs hung neatly over her forehead, cut perfectly level; longer bands of hair hung to the sides of her face along her cheekbones, terminating at her shoulders. It was a unique hairstyle. Ichigo briefly wondered how the girl kept the braids from falling down upon themselves.

"Oh, a cat?" a man asked from behind the girl. She kept her eyes glued to Ichigo. The man's large hand rested lightly on her shoulder. He looked old enough to be the girl's father. No, maybe not a father, Ichigo thought. The man looked too young. Maybe he was the girl's boyfriend? Ichigo knew that some girls preferred getting involved with older men, but she rarely saw a pair with her own eyes.

"It doesn't have a tag either," the man continued. "I wonder if we should call someone…"

Ichigo's heart froze for a moment. The last time she had become a cat, she was still wearing the ribbon and bell that Aoyama had given her. Now, she had nothing that suggested ownership. With her luck, she'd be picked up by animal control as feral.

The girl made a small noise. Ichigo and the man focused their eyes on her. Her amber eyes had swollen with tears that threatened to break over the thin eyeliner barrier that ran along her long eyelashes. Something in those eyes was familiar, Ichigo realized. She stared up at the girl, mesmerized by her emotions. The man leaned in, concerned. Ichigo took the opportunity to run away.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," the girl sniffled, composing herself.

Ichigo bolted as if a bullet had exploded under her haunches. She darted into an alleyway a short distance from the corner. She knew what she had to do in order to revert to her human form. She needed to find someone to kiss. Preferably someone she hadn't run into on a previous run. Despite the time that passed since her last transformation, Ichigo doubted that her reputation in the animal world had disappeared as of yet, and she didn't want any trouble.

That was when she ran into the dog.

He was likely some mix of golden retriever, German shepherd, and a Shiba Inu. He tossed the fur from his eyes to see her correctly. It took merely a moment for Ichigo to realize he was young—younger than her; a puppy. She backed away immediately. He looked far more energetic than any of the animals she was used to bumping into. Usually she would run and they'd lose interest. However, when she ran this time, the puppy pursued.

And so, Ichigo found herself cat, darting through the crowd on the street, the puppy hot on her trail. She cried in distress. Why did the Mew mutation only affect her like this? Granted she hadn't heard from any of her former teammates in years, but the last she'd seen them, none showed any signs of trouble at containing their animal traits. It was only she that had the problem.

"Hey, kitten~"

Ichigo froze. The retriever-shepherd-inu mix stood in front of her. He panted, thick slobber sliding from his lips and tongue. She swallowed shallowly, struggling to keep her calm. When had he slipped past her to cut her off like that? She couldn't remember. His large paws were spread in front of him; his rear was up in the air; his tail flashed back and forth in a mess of hair. Slowly, Ichigo forced out the breath she was holding. He just wanted to play.

"Fancy you showing your face around these parts again," a hoarse voice rasped. The puppy stood up straight, confused. Ichigo spun to face the Doberman pincher stalking towards her. She did not have the best relationship with the Doberman after she attempted to kiss his girlfriend—a miniature poodle. The puppy she could handle. The Doberman she could not.

Ichigo backed away, hoping that maybe he'd decide that she wasn't worth his energy. No luck. The dog snarled ferociously, rushing past the puppy. Ichigo turned to run off when she felt the hand against her stomach fur.

"Go on, I'm sure you have other things to be doing than ganging up on a cat," a female voice snipped at the dogs.

Ichigo submitted to the woman raising her from the ground as the other one shooed the dogs away. Ichigo would figure out how to get out of this situation later. At the moment, it was the perfect rescue from the angry Doberman and that's all she cared about.

The lady held her securely to her torso. Ichigo spared a moment to be jealous that this person had a flatter stomach than she did. She got over it quickly. It wasn't a big deal, and it wasn't like she was looking for a relationship anyway, so she was fine with how she looked. Of course, a small, annoying voice at the back of her mind whispered, _If you had a torso like that, maybe Aoyama wouldn't have broken up with you…_

Her looks had nothing to do with that situation, she knew, but still she wondered if she could have done something—been something—different to keep him in her life. Thoughts like that were just going to depress her again, and she had _just_ managed to motivate herself out of the house. Ichigo angrily shoved the thoughts away. Why was she even still thinking about Aoyama anyway? She had promised herself that she would stop moping about it. She turned her sights to her saviors instead.

The woman who had shooed the dogs away was small, but not young. There was something familiar about her, but Ichigo couldn't quite place what it was—something in the cock of her hip, the toss of her head, the flap of her hand.

The woman who held Ichigo against her chest Ichigo recognized immediately. Zakuro Fujiwara. The idol's full attention was on the smaller one. The idol likely didn't realize that this specific cat in distress was in fact an old friend.

The star held Ichigo out towards the other woman with fully straightened arms. The petite one flushed slightly staring at Ichigo and then Zakuro with a wild expression. She even took a step backwards.

"Kiss the cat, Mint," Zakuro ordered, her voice a monotone.

Ichigo perked up at the name. She could hardly imagine it was true. Mint had run off to France years ago to become a world-famous ballerina. Ichigo hadn't heard anything about any ballerina in the evening news, so she assumed Mint had not completed her goal. Even if she had fallen out of contact with the dancer, Ichigo knew that Mint wouldn't return to Japan unless her goal had been accomplished. That was the kind of person Mint was. And yet, this small but not young woman responded to Zakuro's command as if it _was_ her name.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, flabbergasted.

Zakuro shook Ichigo slightly, egging the other to take her and complete the command. The petite woman refused. Zakuro lowered Ichigo slightly, meeting the others eyes directly.

"If you don't kiss the cat, I won't kiss you," Zakuro threatened, still no fluctuation in her tone.

"Wh-what are you t-talking-ab-about?" The other woman's blush intensified. She stammered over her words as she rushed to respond. Zakuro sighed, bending her arms and bringing Ichigo back towards her.

"I really thought that would work, but no matter," the idol muttered, a little disappointed. She turned Ichigo around and raised her up. Ichigo stared with wide eyes as the top idol in Japan leaned forward and placed a short kiss upon the cat-girl's furry lips.

In a blink, Ichigo was back. Zakuro still held her shoulders, but quickly let go. The small girl was staring at the model wildly. Ichigo rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. To think within the first five minutes of reuniting with the first Mew Mew she'd seen in five years, she would have kissed her.

"Ryo told me how to change you back should we run across you as a cat, but I didn't think, after all this time, that you'd still get flustered by a kiss," Zakuro teased as if she talked to Ichigo for the full five years the team had been broken up. There was no hesitation, or reservation, or awkwardness in her voice. She sounded a lot more confident than Ichigo felt. Even so, Ichigo plastered on a huge grin—the kind of expression she knew would be expected of her.

"Yeah, I mean, usually I'm not, but I haven't seen you in so long! I thought you were in America," Ichigo laughed. It was a hollow sound. The kind of hollow that you only notice when you know you've faked it, but that other people rarely pick up on since they don't know you're faking.

"Well, until two days ago, I was," Zakuro recited calmly. Talking to Zakuro was nothing like listening to her on camera. She was a different person than she was for her fans. The calm of her tone made Ichigo's smile falter slightly, but she quickly caught it and forced it up again.

"Well it's nice to see you back!" Ichigo chimed quickly.

She turned to the petite woman then. She was watching Ichigo like the Mew would either eat her or burst into a thousand butterflies. Either way, Ichigo could tell that the woman didn't want to be there on the street rescuing cats that turned into humans.

"Hi, I'm Ichigo. And you are?" Ichigo greeted cheerfully. The lady gave her a weirder look than before. Ichigo wondered what her problem was. It was polite to introduce yourself. Maybe she was taken aback by the fact Ichigo—the cat—could talk.

"I'm Mint," the woman replied. She looked as though Ichigo had slapped her. "I got home two days ago."

Ichigo's eyes widened. Apparently, she didn't know Mint as well as she thought if the dancer had come back before achieving her dream. Looking at the woman a second time, now that her identity had been officially established, Ichigo couldn't believe she had missed it the first time around. Mint's body was definitely that of a dancer-her chest small, her stomach thin, her feet tiny, her legs muscled, and her arms delicate. Mint's sharp, intelligent eyes that looked annoyed, joyful, and worried all at once. Her smooth, dark, well-behaved hair was pulled tightly into a single bun at the back of her head to replace the two buns of her middle school years. She looked so much more sophisticated, but there was no question that the woman was Mint. Ichigo felt stupid.

"Why are you staring at me like that, Ichigo?" Mint asked irritably, crossing her arms over her dancer's chest.

"You are so…_thin_!"

(WC: 2,282)


End file.
